


Best Served Cold

by DivineProvidence



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Love/Hate, M/M, Predatory!Reid, Slow Burn, Vampire!McCullum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProvidence/pseuds/DivineProvidence
Summary: McCullum is struggling to find his place now that he is a vampire. Forced to flee the Guard, he seeks out his sire in Scotland to seek revenge. But does he truly need vengeance or just a little guidance? Maybe a little of both.





	1. The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based in a universe where Reid turned McCullum after the fight, Edgar Swansea is a vampire and Elisabeth Ashbury took her own life.

_“Consider this my kiss of Judas.”_

_The pain was indescribable. Roiling inside him until he thought he would burst. Each cell decaying, mutating, being reborn all at once. The rattle and crash of thick wooden doors rolling shut on his old life and everything is blackness. His own screams echo in the dark. Then nothing._

Geoffrey bolts up in his bed, covers constricting his legs. He pushes limp, damp hair up out of his eyes and searches around his sleeping quarters. It’s been weeks since he met Reid in Stonebridge Cemetery, but it seemed every time he closed his eyes he was back in the top room of Pembroke Hospital, on his knees in the dark. Begging for death over… this.

He dragged himself over to the wash basin in the corner and splashed cool water over his face. He didn’t glance at his warped reflection in the little shaving mirror above. He still couldn’t stomach looking at himself after what had happened to him. Still wasn’t prepared to accept it. He could tell how he looked by the attention he got when he ventured out into the halls of Priwen headquarters. Sidelong glances and whispers when they thought he was out of earshot.

_“He looks unwell.”_

_“The flu’s still going about.”_

_“Someone should make sure he sees a doctor.”_

He’d be happy to never see a doctor again. 

Knowing that the sun was still up, though close to setting, he decided it wasn’t worth trying for more sleep. He felt tired most of the time, though no amount of sleep seemed to improve his mood. Nothing seemed to improve his mood. He had a reputation for being cranky before his transformation, but this was a new level of irritability, even for him. He had withdrawn from his more active duties, content to lead from his office and have his most trusted guards lead the raids. He didn’t truly trust himself to keep his secret from them if he had to concentrate on fighting as well as keeping his monstrous appetite in check.

His powers were a morbid curiosity to him and he had indulged in some experimentation behind closed doors. He had mastered the phase-jump quickly and only almost thrown up the first time. When he was deep in research one night and needed a certain tome that he didn’t have to hand he had mesmerised one of the newer recruits to fetch it for him. After the fact he had scolded himself for that and decided he would need to be more careful if he were to remain in the Guard. One slip up and the house of cards would cascade down around him. 

He tugged his breeches on and tucked in his undershirt before dragging a comb through his bedraggled hair. There were patrols to organise and reading to be done. He was hoping to stumble across some succinct answers to rather pressing questions he had about his affliction. God knows where his sire had vanished to and he wasn’t about to turn to Swansea for advice. The books that the Guard kept weren’t the sort that held the answers he sought. If you wanted to know the best way to kill a vampire they were great. If you wanted to know how to control your unending thirst for blood, not so much.

It was always difficult moving through the corridors of the headquarters but with the added distraction of being able to hear the sweet siren-song of blood rushing through the veins of everyone he passed it was all the more challenging. The building was always bustling in the evening. Troops were preparing to leave on patrol, so the hallways were packed. Each person that passed gave him a respectful nod or a salute and he returned the acknowledgement, trying his best to seem as though he wasn’t tempted to tear the still-beating heart from their chests.

Reaching the sanctuary of his private office, he closed the door firmly and slumped into the heavy chair behind the desk with a weary sigh. Papers and stacks of books littered the surface and he pushed them aside, so he could rest his clammy forehead against the cool varnish beneath. He closed his eyes for what he thought was a few seconds.

_“Welcome to the world through the looking glass.”_

He jolted up, papers flying, and saw a rather timid looking man standing in the open doorway. His brow creased as he glared at the intruder and he slowly stood, chair screeching as it judders across the floorboards. The recruit that had woken him looked barely eighteen, strapped into a heavy leather cuirass he looked like he’d never grow into and laden with sword and crossbow. It seemed like the boy had said something that required an answer because he was looking expectantly at McCullum.

“What?” Geoffrey grunted, voice cracked. He was very aware of how thirsty he was. He had tried to quench that thirst with water in a desperate attempt to feel normal again but all that did was make him vomit. When he first turned the thirst was a dull ache within him. Something he could control, though it was challenging. His heightened senses and abilities bolstered him for a time but now the nagging hunger pained him almost constantly. 

“Chaplain asked me to come for the duty roster, sir.”

“Right, right. It’s here somewhere…” He absently opened the drawer to his left to search for it. The searing light that erupted from that drawer cast him back a few steps with a guttural howl of mixed pain and surprise. The chair crashed to the floor. The boy jumped at the sudden reaction, a look of concern painting his features. He started forwards, hands outstretched in a placatory gesture. The heavy door swung closed behind him and dulled the sounds of life from the corridor.

“Sir, are you alright?” As he drew closer he looked in the draw and found a solid-looking crucifix. His brow knitted in confusion for a moment as he looked up at his superior, whose silver eyes glowered back at him from between his pale fingers.

“I will be,” came the growled reply and a clawed hand shot out to close tightly around the boy’s throat, strangling any cry before it could escape. The realisation of his fate dawned on the boy’s face and he mouthed a desperate plea that came to naught but a gargle. His fingers scratched frantically at his aggressor’s arm and Geoffrey lifted him from the ground. The panicked racing of his prey’s heart was all he knew, and he sunk his fangs hungrily into the soft flesh of the boy’s neck.

The warm rush of blood greeted him like an old friend. He felt energised and renewed almost the instant he had swallowed the first mouthful, but he didn’t stop there. He couldn’t stop there even if he had wanted to. His body thrummed with ecstasy and he gave himself over to it fully. It wasn’t until he had drained the poor recruit of every drop that he came to his senses. The dead weight of the lifeless form dropped to the ground with a heavy thud and Geoffrey backed up slowly, until the window sill dug into his back. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and the sticky, deep red smear that was left behind turned his stomach.

Before he could figure out the best course of action there was a knock at the door and he was startled out of his spiral of self-loathing. _Shit._ There wasn’t anything that could make this look good. He fumbled for the catch on the window and dragged the pane upwards, pushing the shutters open and praying the sun was low enough. Across the street there was a balcony leading to a rickety scaffold and in the blink of an eye he appeared there. Whoever had knocked at his office door had entered because he heard a commotion behind him as he fled. Voices shouting orders and the hammering of several sets of footsteps.

There was a sharp whizz of motion and a dull _thok_. Pain blossomed in his shoulder as the bolt tore through. In a hail of crossbow fire and pursued by the voices of men he once considered allies, he disappeared into the dusky shadows of London’s streets, leaving the Guard behind him.


	2. Blood Price

He runs until he can no longer hear the cries of his pursuers. Only then does he rip the crossbow bolt free, a gush of thick blood oozing down his back and sticking his shirt to his skin. Panting and clutching his shoulder, he ducks into a boarded up house. The door creaks eerily as it swings shut behind him and his thoughts flash back to the young recruit. The door closing heavily behind him. Closing on his final moments. Murdered by a monster in a place that should have been safe. Like his brother. 

Dragging the weight of his deeds with him, he pushed a solid-looking cabinet across the room to barricade the door. Only when he was certain he wouldn’t be disturbed did he allow himself a moment of self-pity.

He didn’t choose this path. It was chosen for him and he was left alone to deal with the consequences. His whole life had been a series of choices other people had made on his behalf. Choices that forced his hand. Moulded him into someone he barely recognised. With an anguished cry of frustration, he put a fist through the cabinet door. The splinters gouged at his wrist, but the feeling was a welcome one. It grounded him. Prying his hand free, he made up his mind. It was time to start taking control of his own destiny.

He needed to find Reid. He needed to learn more about his affliction if he was going to try and control it. He needed to exact his revenge. He craved that almost as much as he craved blood. He needed to see Reid pay for the curse he had bestowed upon him.

Picking through the forgotten relics of the derelict house he had holed up in, he found a clean shirt and a threadbare black coat that was a little tight in the back but would draw less attention than wandering around a wintery London at night in a single layer. He found a few shillings tucked away in a drawer and decided to take them as well. Something told him the previous residents were beyond the need for them and by this point grave-robbing was a step up on the night’s crimes.

He left his temporary sanctuary via an upper floor window and made his way towards the only person he could think of that may know where Dr. Reid had disappeared to.

And so, he found himself back at the Pembroke. A place he had hoped never to visit again. He leaned against the low wall that ran alongside the river, gazing solemnly at the upper floor. Playing that fateful encounter over and over in his head. He had been so sure of himself that night. He had that leech exactly where he wanted him. And then he didn’t. He had destroyed hundreds of vampires since Carl Eldritch had taken him in. Maybe even thousands. But it only took one to destroy him.

A voice jolts him back to the present moment and he is looking into the gentle eyes of one of the hospital’s nurses. She was young but there was something about her that gave him the impression she was already world-weary. Her heartbeat sang to him.

“Are you alright, sir?” Her voice betrays her exhaustion. No doubt she has been working long hours in the aftermath of the Disaster.

“Grand, miss, thank you,” he lies. He can tell she is unconvinced, but she doesn’t push any further. “I’m hoping to see Dr. Swansea. Is he here?”

“In his office. Take the stairs-“

“I know where it is, thank you.” Before she can ask after his health again, he stalks toward the large doors of the hospital. He is not looking forward to this conversation. Swansea was insufferable when he was human. As a vampire he could only be worse. As it stood, they weren’t on the best of terms with each other. Geoffrey had had him kidnapped and beaten, after all.

He didn’t knock.

Edgar was at his desk and as the door opened he glanced up briefly from his paperwork.

“I was wondering when you would come by, Geoffrey,” he said cheerily, gaze falling back to his writing. “Please close the door. Have a seat.”

His amiable temperament was unsettling and immediately McCullum felt on edge. This was a trick. Something about this didn’t sit right. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, the click resounding ominously.

“I’ll stand.”

“Right you are, then.” He punctuated the words with a swift jab of pen to paper and set it down on the desk. He clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forwards, engaged. “What can I do for you?”

“Where is Reid?” Geoffrey jumped straight to the point, eager for this exchange to be over as quickly as possible. It seemed Edgar had other plans for the conversation.

“Ah, now that is something… I just got the strangest sense of deja vu,” Swansea mused, leaning back in his chair and glaring at the other man. “Isn’t it funny how the mind plays tricks.”

“Edgar, this is important.” He was keeping his distance, hovering by the door in case he needed to make a quick escape. Something in the tone of Swansea’s voice hinted that he wasn’t concerned about the residents of the hospital intruding. The only person that would rudely burst into his office was already in it.

“I’m sure it is.” There was a darker inflection in his voice now. He had picked up a letter opener from the desk and was toying with it idly.

“You have something to say to me, Edgar, then say it.”

In the blink of an eye, the doctor was standing mere inches from him, forcing him back against the varnished wood of the office door. The blade of the letter opener pressed against McCullum’s throat. He could feel the uncomfortable burn of true silver digging into to the curve of his adam’s apple as he swallowed dryly.

“Your Guard are a plague on this city,” Swansea spat, incensed. His maniacal gaze gleamed with rage and he was trembling with the power of it. “Worse than the blasted epidemic.”

Geoffrey raised his hands slowly, in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. The sudden increase in pressure at his throat suggested Edgar was beyond such simple calming measures.

“Before tonight I would have defended them to the death,” McCullum spoke quickly. “But I am beginning to see the other side of the coin. Edgar, I know it won’t mean much, but I’m sorry for what they did to you. What I did to you.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t mean much.” Contrary to his words, Swansea released his hold on the other man and took a step back. “But we both have an eternity to hate each other and there is something I require that you can provide in exchange for Jonathan’s whereabouts.”

“You’re loyalty is heart-warming,” McCullum balked, rubbing his throat idly where the knife had seared his flesh. Swansea didn’t respond to the jibe. “What do you need.”

“Your blood. A few vials will do.”

“No.”

“Good luck on your search then, hunter.” Edgar swung around, white coat fanning out dramatically behind him and he waved over his shoulder.

“Fine, fine. I agree to your terms,” Geoffrey growled irritably.

Swansea pulled one of the chairs in front of his desk out and gestured for his guest to sit. Begrudgingly McCullum made his way over, removed his jacket, and took a seat. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and watched as Edgar collected the apparatus he needed from around the room. Fresh needles, tubing and vials. Hospitals had always made Geoffrey feel a little queasy. The reasons why were mounting up. He looked around the office as Swansea swabbed his arm with antiseptic. Everything seemed as it always had done. Just the man himself had changed.

“Is that really necessary?” 

“You want to find out if vampires can get sepsis?”

“Don’t suppose I do…”

“Little prick.”

“What did you call-“ He felt the needle break the skin and glared at the doctor, who leaned back against the desk to wait for the vial to fill. It didn’t take long and after he had collected a few he withdrew the needle carefully and professionally, contrary to the harm he truly wished upon the hunter.

“Jonathan is in Glasgow. He has written to me a few times to inform me of the clinic he has opened there.” Swansea busies himself tidying away his equipment. He scribbles something on a sheet of paper and slides it across the desk to McCullum. “The address.”

“Thank-“

“Don’t. Just get out.” The words drip with venom. “Don’t come back here again, Geoffrey. I am not the same man I used to be.”

Knowing it was unwise to push further, McCullum takes the paper and folds it carefully into the pocket of his trousers. He leaves his jacket in his haste to put as much space as he can between himself and this new version of Swansea. The thought that sticks in the forefront of his mind is that it was his actions that changed the man so. If he had approached his hunt for the Disaster with more care perhaps the doctor would not be warped by the vampiric disease.

Though of course, Reid had some blame in that too. Yet another of his so called progeny. How many more lives would he taint with his demonic blood?

It seemed the answers he sought lay in Scotland.


	3. A Long and Not-So-Lonesome Road

Travelling posed a challenge for McCullum, as he had no supplies, a hand full of shillings and couldn’t step foot in the sunlight. He decided the best course of action was to stow away onboard a cargo train headed north and see where that got him. It got him into trouble is what it did. He hadn’t expected to be tossed bodily from the carriage by a surly security guard. He _had_ expected to get further than Birmingham before being discovered.

He had been ejected from the train just south of the city and by the time he had trudged to the outskirts the first rays of sunlight where threatening to spill over the horizon. Miserable and lost in unfamiliar territory, he ducked into a derelict warehouse in search of sanctuary. He found a small office on the second floor that hade no exposure to the elements and slumped into the desk chair, which took his weight with only the slightest of worrisome creaks. It wasn’t long before he succumbed to sleep, exhausted from the trials he had faced that night.

*****

_“You’ve been busy, Geoffrey,”_ a familiar voice startled him from his torturous dreams. Reid. He seemed distracted. As if he was busy with something and only paying minimal attention to the words he spoke.

“Get out of my head, leech,” McCullum growled blearily, voice echoing loudly in the silence of the abandoned room. He half expected to see the other man standing over him when he opened his eyes, but he saw nothing but the cracked paint of the ceiling.

_“Please,”_ Reid scoffed, amused. _“I thought we were passed petty name calling.”_

“I’ll call you what I want after what you did to me.” Geoffrey got up from the chair, rubbing his stiff neck and stretching it from side to side until he heard a satisfying crack. He could tell the sun had gone down and he was eager to return to his task. Reid couldn’t taunt him from the safety of his hiding place forever.

_“I’m not hiding from you, Geoffrey,”_ his voice came again, as if reading his intention. _“In fact, I welcome your company. It’s frightfully lonely without the constant threat of running into a hunter around every corner.”_ His teasing was infuriating.

“You’ll change your tune, Reid. I’m not dropping by for tea,” McCullum snapped. He found himself waiting for a reply but after a few beats of silence he shook his head and stalked out of his temporary dwelling. As he made his way towards the centre of the city his thoughts dwelled on the doctor. Part of him was relieved to finally hear his voice again after those long weeks since they had last met. The sensation was not unlike sating his vampiric thirst for blood. That thought concerned and confused him in equal measure. Was it normal for him to feel that way about his sire? Yet another question he needed an answer to.

After finding his way into town, he managed to hitch a lift to Newcastle with an overnight courier. The man was friendly enough and the long journey went by amiably. When they arrived, the courier asked him if he’d like to go for a drink as the place he was delivering to didn’t open for a few hours and he had nothing else to do in as he knew no-one in town.

“Why the hell not,” Geoffrey decided, and they knocked back a few at a particularly dingy pub. Not long after, Geoffrey excused himself from the other man’s company, used his few shillings to rent the only room the landlord had to offer and retired there for the day. Before turning in, he inelegantly ejected the beer he’d consumed into a bedpan. Indignant that he could no longer indulge in drowning his sorrows in alcohol, he passed out on the lumpy mattress in the corner.

*****

When he woke his head was pounding and his throat was rough. He rolled over carefully and dragged himself up. After two days of sleeping in his clothes, he was beginning to smell ripe. There wasn’t a lot he could do about that as he now had no money. He washed himself at the basin in the corner and ran wet hands through his hair to tame it back into something that didn’t resemble a hawthorn bush. That would have to do for now. He needed to figure out a plan of action. The courier had likely left town by now and he couldn’t be sure his job would take him further north anyway. Perhaps he could ask the barkeep if he knew of a way to make it up to Scotland from here.

A strange sensation overcame him as he descended the stairs back to the main room of the pub. He couldn’t really discern what it meant until his gaze fell upon the lithe figure in a smart black overcoat seated at the bar. An untouched cup of tea sat on a chipped saucer in front of him and he was chatting genially with the landlord.

Geoffrey had frozen, rooted to the spot. One hand gripped the uneven stone surface of the wall for support. His mind raced as he realised he had not prepared for what he would do when he finally found the doctor, or the doctor found him as the case seemed to be. His plan had been to catch up with him in Scotland. He thought he still had time to come up with what he would do. How he would exact his revenge.

“Damn it, Reid,” he bellowed across the room. The landlord jumped, looking up at him, startled. Jonathan didn’t turn around, stirring his tea delicately.

“Would you excuse us?” His voice had a forceful undertone and the barkeep acquiesced without question, leaving the two men unattended and busying himself in the cellar. Only when they were alone did Jonathan turn around on the bar stool and incline his head in greeting. “You look tired, Geoffrey,” he noted, taking in the dishevelled Irishman with disturbingly hungry eyes.

“Well, you look like a fecking arsehole,” McCullum growled, still standing on the last step, back to the wall so as to keep the other man in front of him. The security of the bannister between them only gave a little comfort.

“Now, now. That’s no way to talk to someone who is doing you a favour.” Everything about him oozed smug satisfaction. It was infuriating.

“I don’t need any favours from you.” Geoffrey came down the last few steps slowly, keeping the other man in his sight the whole time. 

“It’s a long walk to Glasgow, Geoffrey,” Jonathan admonished him. “I brought you some clothes. Do us both a kindness and get changed.” He gestured to a bag on the stool next to him and waited, expectantly. Against his better judgement Geoffrey made his way cautiously over the room and grabbed the bag. Before Jonathan could speak again he phase-stepped back to the top of the stairs and closed himself up in the small bedroom to change.

The clothes fit him well, which he was surprised about. He wouldn’t have fit into any of Jonathan’s clothes, the other man being taller and more slender than himself. Had he bought these, then? Why go through the trouble? 

He felt strangely self-conscious as he made his way back downstairs. He could feel Jonathan’s silvery gaze upon him and he couldn’t quite meet those intense eyes. The doctor stood and took the bag as Geoffrey offered it, grabbing the hunter’s wrist with his other hand and tugged him closer. McCullum’s breath hitched in his throat and he felt every muscle in his body tense in anticipation. He placed his free hand squarely against the other man’s chest, allowing for some space between them.

“Reid…” There was a warning tone in his voice. The doctor reluctantly released his hold on Geoffrey’s wrist and stepped passed him towards the door.

“Come, then, there’s no point dawdling when we’ve the whole night ahead of us.” His voice seemed forcedly chipper. The upbeat cadence didn’t suit him at all. Geoffrey much preferred to hear him suffering.

The bond between the vampire and his sire seemed to be a strong one. The eagerness he felt to do as he was bidden clashed violently against the stubbornness that was knitted into the fabric of his being. Sulkily he followed Reid out into the cool night. It was drizzling and a soft mist made everything look ethereal. A Ford T model sat at the road side. There was a little rust around the wheel arches and one of the side panels had a nasty dent. Reid tugged the roof up and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“You sure you can drive that thing?” McCullum teased as he tugged the door open and climbed up into the seat next to his sire.

“I got here didn’t I? It’s easier than performing an appendectomy, Geoffrey.” Reid assured him, starting the car. He pushed down the clutch, fiddled with the gear stick and the motor made a crunch and turned off. Stalled.

“I’m glad I’ve already had my appendix removed…”


	4. And They Were Roommates

They drove in silence for a while, both too stubborn to start a conversation. Geoffrey slouched in the passenger seat, arms folded tightly like a petulant child. His brow creased in a frown. A frown he adopted so often you could see the spirit of it in his face even when it was at rest. He was turned away from the other man so that it seemed he was paying him no mind when really his attention was consumed by him. The precise corrections to his steering; the scent of disinfectant, a warm hint of elegant aftershave and the iron tang of fresh blood that set his nerves on edge; The low hum of a vaguely familiar tune he was making to fill the silence. His mind raced with everything he had wanted to ask since his transformation. He tapped his foot irritably and fiddled with the cuff of the thick woollen coat Jonathan had given him.

“Why Glasgow?” McCullum finally spoke. The question felt lacking. Unimportant. They both knew that wasn’t the question that was really playing on his mind. 

“Why not?” Reid said enigmatically, not letting his gaze waver from the road in front of him. The further they got from the city the smaller and darker the roads got. Even with heightened senses it was wise to pay attention.

“I can think of a few reasons an Englishman might want to steer clear of Glasgow…”

“Not everyone is as judgemental as you are, Geoffrey.” McCullum gave a derisive snort and a shake of his head but didn’t refute the remark. “It is as good a place as any to continue my research. Beyond the purview of your illustrious brigade of ruffians.”

“They are good men.” His voice faltered slightly, and he glanced over at the driver to see if he had noticed. If he had he gave no indication to that effect.

“Everyone has the potential for good and bad within them.”

“You really believe that after everything you’ve seen?”

The car slowed and the breaks squeaked loudly, the chassis shuddering beneath them. Once they had stopped, Reid turned the key and the engine cut out. They were miles from anywhere and there was nothing but rolling countryside and sleeping cattle surrounding them. The cool leather of the seat creaked as Jonathan turned to face his passenger, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other resting on the upholstered leather of the bench seat, making the gap between them feel smaller. The silver of his irises glinted eerily in the dark and Geoffrey felt an uncomfortable tingle race down his spine. The intensity of Jonathan’s stare was difficult to look away from and he found himself captivated by it. 

“Why are you here, Geoffrey?" His voice held a commanding tone and McCullum found he felt compelled to answer.

“I came to kill you.”

Reid had the audacity to laugh. An honest, musical laugh that he couldn’t remember ever hearing from the man before. If he hadn’t felt so embarrassed by it, he might have found it charming.

“Unarmed and alone? Come, now, hunter. You’re lying to yourself.” He turned the ignition and the engine rumbled back into life. 

“You feckin’ left me there!” Geoffrey snapped, jabbing his finger accusatorially into the doctor’s arm. “You turned me into a monster, Reid. The very thing I’ve spent my life fighting to rid from the world. You’re a spiteful, hateful demon and I’ll spend the rest of my days on this Earth hunting you down.” His anger felt as if it had physical form, swelling and roiling inside him. He closed in on the other man until his back was pressed tightly against the door to the cab. His chest burned with the desire to see the man suffer.

“I’m sorry.” 

“No. Don’t do that.”

“I know how it feels to be left confused and powerless to the whims of another. I’m sorry I left, Geoffrey. I had my reasons. But you didn’t deserve that.”

The words were genuine, McCullum knew that, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to rip the throat out of the arrogant bastard. Damned right he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any of this. He smashed a fist against the glove compartment, which popped open and spilled its contents into the dark recesses of the foot well. 

“You’ll get what’s coming to you, Reid. Mark my words.”

*****

It took a few more hours to get to Glasgow. They spent the rest of the journey in silence. Geoffrey brooding sulkily in the passenger seat and Jonathan ignoring the problem he had created in true English fashion. 

The streets of Glasgow were quieter than London. The epidemic had hit them just as hard and the smaller population seemed to show it worse. There was a serene beauty about the city, like the eye of the storm. A sense of impending chaos loomed in the shadows. He understood why Jonathan had decided to settle here. The atmosphere suited his nature. A calm exterior hiding a worrisome secret. And not hiding it particularly well.

The car pulled up outside an unassuming building, sandwiched between a bank and another building that looked like a bank but seemed to have been boarded up for years. Reid got out and made his way around the front of the car, opening the door for his riding companion.

“It’s gonna take more than that to get in my good books, leech,” Geoffrey chided, accepting the gesture anyway and stepping down onto the street. “What is this place?”

“My clinic.”

“Not another feckin’ hospital.”

“Hardly. We do the best with what is available.” The doctor extended a hand, ushering McCullum towards the door. He took the hint and stepped inside.

The clinic was simple but well stocked. He supposed that owed to the doctor’s resourcefulness and dedication to his role. The beds were clean and none were empty. There were two large rooms on the lower floor that housed patients. The second floor was for the nurses and contained a small room that had been converted into a clean room for operations. The top floor was an attic space and that is where Dr. Reid resided. That is where they retired to. It was late and only the duty nurse was awake, keeping an eye on things while the others slept.

Geoffrey stood awkwardly in the doorway as he watched Jonathan’s back. He wanted to step into the room, but something compelled him to remain just outside. The doctor glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.

“Right. You can come in. I don’t usually have guests, forgive me.”

The hunter stepped over the threshold and glanced around the room. It was pretty spacious, yet cosy. There was a well-stocked book shelf; a small desk littered with papers, vials of chemicals and other equipment; a small metal framed bed pushed up against one wall; a particularly comfy looking arm chair that looked like it had been difficult to get up the two flights of stairs. Next to the chair, on a small table, was a potted plant that looked particularly well cared for. Funny, Reid didn’t seem like the green fingered type.

Reid took a seat in a folding chair by the desk. He didn’t offer Geoffrey a seat but he had taken a fancy to the plush arm chair so slumped down in it anyway. The table rocked a little as the floor boards trembled.

“Do you invite everyone that wants you dead into your home? How have you survived this long?”

“You aren’t going to kill me, Geoffrey.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” The doctor’s smug surety was grating on his last nerve. Every fibre of his being, from his relaxed posture, to his quirked eyebrow, screamed nonchalant amusement. It was infuriating. He glanced around the space to see if there was anything that might make an impromptu weapon. It was nice to be prepared.

“Because you need something from me. Kill me and no one is going to answer your questions.” He had a point. There wasn’t anyone else that he could ask. He hadn’t exactly ingratiated himself to the vampire community. Or any community, come to think of it. 

“So you’ll-“ Geoffrey let out an exasperated huff. He could barely bring himself to say it. Through gritted teeth he managed. “Help me?”

There was a glint of sadistic pleasure in Jonathan’s eye at the words and something about that look twisted its way into McCullum’s gut. This was a mistake.

“Of course. You can stay here. I’ll answer your questions. And you, in turn, will help me.” A big mistake.


End file.
